Requiescat in Pace
by Wisdomwielder
Summary: Assassin's Creed 2 short-story: A paranoid guard is tormented by the thought of being assassinated by the man in white, almost to the point of insanity.


_Hello Hello! ...It seems I am not dead after all, merely occupied.  
Welcome to my dreadfully disturbing story. Well, I guess it depends on what you would find disturbing... Anyways, this is just a little tid-bit I came up with after I played Assassin's Creed 2. This is mostly in accordance for not writing for White Demon (I will finish the danged thing one day!). Hope you enjoy._

_Warning: Has some explicit violence and gore. You were warned... Mwahahahaha! _

* * *

The sun setting on the clear Mediterranean waters of _Venezia_ was one of the most stunning sights one could ever be behold in Italy. The sky would turn all different colors of blue, dark-violet, orange, red, and pink. The surrounding water would then reflect the lights and colors just like a mirror, washing the entire city in the magnificence.

From a guard post however, it was merely a dreadfully slow clock. Taking this position was worse than Geurino could have ever imagined. Just standing there in front of some rich brat's door from dawn till dusk, waiting for the next shift to come around and relieve him. "You don't move one inch from that spot!" his brutish ranking officer would scream before leaving him and the other three guards to themselves, "I don't care if it's the second coming and Jesus himself is here to get you! You stay in this exact spot! _Capisce_?"

He barely had the patience to directly watch the setting sun to the west of him, but sometimes he would become a little too anxious and follow it all the way to the horizon. Now more than ever he would do this, especially with the excessive amounts of vicious killings going on, mostly directed at guards; some would have their throats sliced open and others were nearly disemboweled they were stabbed in the stomach so many times. Rumor had it; it was just one man that wore a white cloak with the hood up wherever he went. There were no confirmations of this though, because there were never any witnesses. He would sometimes walk just a little faster and periodically look over his shoulder when he went home every other night.

"Just about that time again," said a guard who was furthest from him, also staring at the sunset.

Geurino followed up on his comment, "_Si! _If only Cirillo and his bunch of misfits would hurry and get their _culo_ down her!"

"Who are you trying to fool Geurino? Their not coming until after dark as usual." said another that was next to him.

"Gah! I'll have to walk home alone at night again."

The first guard chuckled, "What, are you afraid of the dark?"

All of them laughed out loud except Geurino, "You know very well it's not the dark itself I'm afraid of."

The laughter quickly died away.

Geurino continued, "It's what's IN the dark!"

The men looked at each other searching for a hint of nonexistent disbelief, then at Geurino again.

One of them finally spoke up, "You don't know if it's truly one man in a fancy white getup running across rooftops. It just sounds too outlandish."

"So you've heard of the _diavolo_ as well!" Geurino exclaimed.

"Heard the gossip! It's probably just a few troublemakers trying to deceive us and you're falling head over heels for it."

They murmured together in agreement.

"Then how would you explain the killings?"

"Just a bunch of criminals acting up."

Geurino turned away, frustrated, "Well you can think what you want, but if you end up dead in a gutter somewhere, you can't say I never warned you!"

"You all sound like a bunch of gossiping old women!"

It was Cirillo. His band of men was following closely behind, laughing at the comment.

"And you're late as usual!"

Some of the dayshift guards suspected that the ones that patrolled the city at night were a little bit crazy, especially the rough and tumble Cirillo. The nightshift men would sometimes 'see' things, impossible things.

Cirillo shrugged, "Hey, better late than never!"

Geurino sighed audibly and relaxed his shoulders, "It doesn't matter anymore. Just get over here so I can go home to Annabella."

Some of the men, mostly the young, single ones, hooted and hollered.

"Oh ho ho Geurino!" someone interjected as the two groups of men were trading places, "are you planning on having some fun tonight?"

He laughed, "That's a joke! She wants me home so I can help her wash the dishes!"

The others laughed out loud, Cirillo bellowing the loudest then pausing mid-snort to add, "You're a real ladies man, no?"

"Yeah, Yeah…" Geurino put in as he walked off down a darkening road as they were still having their fun. The sound of their laughter abated after he had walked for a good few minutes.

Dusk had nearly turned to night. The sun was now asleep below the water, leaving the sky a lighter blue where the sun had disappeared. He looked up at the quickly blackening sky. There were no clouds but everything was turning pitch-black.

"_Diavolo!_ There's no moon tonight."

He walked on nonetheless, knowing there was no possible way to reach home before night had fully overtaken his sight. What a perfect time to be late.

The streets in this part of town were devoid of life and dead silent; even the water in the canals refused to slosh enough to make a sound. Most streets he traveled on had minimal lighting and every building was abnormally dark. There was only him and the sound of his boots echoing between the brick walls of buildings.

Whenever he was about to walk by a heavily shadowed alleyway, he almost felt like stopping and peeking around the corner before power-walking past it. It was a long walk home… wouldn't hurt to jog a bit.

He decided the best thing to do rather than overreact was to think about something else as he hurried home… but today was more boring than usual. All he could remember doing was counting how many people with purple clothes had passed him, which was a last resort distraction technique. He laughed to himself: Forty-nine. Forty-nine! And the funniest part was that the majority of them were men. The street didn't even have that much traffic on it either, which was pathetic. He saw just about as much action in a day as a priest or scholar would get in an entire week. And all they do is carry around books and bibles…

"_Diavolo_!! NO!! I forgot my bible! Geurino you stupid _idiota!_"

He froze in his tracks and whipped around, this time at a running pace.

His wife had recently given him the family bible to read whenever he had time on duty. This line of work was making him neglect his reading time, and so Annabella put it under his arm every time he went out. Of course he barely had any time to even think about picking it up and would just leave it sitting on a stray crate that belonged to the homeowner. All that distraction as he was leaving caused Geurino to completely forget about it. Annabella would murder him if he came home without it; it was a family heirloom!

It was nigh impossible to see now, the full blackness of the night was upon _Venezia_, washing all discernable color and shape from the surroundings. He even had to slow down so he wouldn't fall on his face or into a canal. How was he supposed to get home now?

Geurino continued as fast as he could manage through the shadow-shrouded, lifeless city until he could see the orange, dancing light of a torch on a wall a few blocks away. Relief washed over his entire body as he navigated toward the light that marked his post. Night guards would usually light a fire of some kind if they were to stay in a single spot.

When he was only a few feet and a corner turn away, he thought of what Cirillo and those crazies would say when he suddenly appeared back here and not at home washing dishes: They'd most likely make terrible fun of him, again.

He quickly prepared a few mediocre statements and come-backs, then primed himself for an ear-full as he turned the corner, not even wanting to see their expressions of disbelief and so closed his eyes. He walked a few steps toward them without looking, waiting for the barrage of laughing and taunting. A few more seconds passed, but he heard nothing but his own boots. He opened his eyes as he said, "What, you guys are so shocked to see me here you're speechh…llesss…"

…..

……….

……………

De– Dead… bodies… blood… all of them…

He looked on the scene, his feet ice cold and frozen to the street. His heart was so tight in his chest he couldn't even feel if it was still beating, but he felt intense pulses of electricity traveling from the back of his head through his spine.

They were all just laying there, scattered across the street, all seven of them: Cirillo and his group, and his own. Some were completely soaked in blood to the point it looked like just a red blob. One was on his back pinned to the ground with a sword pierced through his neck, his twisted, cringing facial expression frozen in grisly pain when his spirit left him. Two that were laying side by side looked simply dead, with a surprised look on their face, naught a scratch on their body. It was like they had died of natural causes if there wasn't an inexplicable pool of blood between them. And then there was Cirillo; his back was sliced open in several places, his mouth gaping and his eyes wide… as if he had been laughing…

Now that he paid more attention, most of these men didn't even have their swords out and ready...

The sound of tearing papers shattered the dead silence. He nearly fell backwards when his hypnotism was broken by the out-of-place sound. His eyes darted around him in search for the source of the noise. His eyes picked up some fluttering white shreds falling to the ground by a corner. The thin papers were like sardonic snowflakes. Above them were shadowed hands, or at least he assumed they were, holding his bible in two, tattered pieces.

There were so many emotions burning through him, raging like a fire storm; anger, terror, panic, grief, disbelief, hate… But all he could think, or not think, to do was to simply stand there in shock.

A figure took shape in the black shadow from behind the former bible and wretched pile of paper. There were hands first, one gloved in leather, both soaked with the bright, moist blood of his companions. Then, what materialized next, he could almost not comprehend. He was frozen by the malicious presence he was in the midst of, unable to move, scream, run, or even beg for mercy. The nonexistent eyes beneath the hood of the white cloak stared with a black intensity he could only suffer from. The lips on the face were linear, except for at the corners, where they were curled upwards into a wicked, mocking smirk.

The red-smeared book held in the death-dealing hands dropped to the ground. He nearly jumped out of his boots at the sudden disruption to his fear-consumed thoughts. He was now able to shiver uncontrollably as the white cloak slowly grew nearer to him. Geurino could only stand and observe as the _diavolo_ he feared to no end walked toward him to end his life.

Something finally released him from the spell. When the white cloak was no less than ten feet away, he turned and bolted.

He wasn't even sure where he was going, he only knew that he had to find a way to lose his pursuer. The darkness would no doubt aid him, but the singular, loud sound of his footfalls on the empty streets would no doubt give him away. Now that he thought about it, he heard no sound from behind him, but he dared not check for fear of being wrong and then abruptly dead. His voice corresponded with many of his emotions; it panicked and squeaked as he ran.

On and on Geurino went until his legs were jelly and his lungs and throat were scorched to where it seemed he was breathing fire. He had to stop, at least to get a bearing on his surroundings.

Bent over one knee, he sucked in lungful after lungful of hot oxygen. He paused long enough to look around him, at nothing. Not a hint of white anywhere. He had lost him. Geurino breathed out sighs of relief with every inhale.

When his breathe had finally been caught, he stood straight and tall to look at his surroundings. Still no people strange enough… was it really that late? Sunset had only been less than an hour ago… wasn't it? Dirty, poorly made buildings, trash and debris on the streets: It looked like a poorer region of the city. He must have run in the complete opposite direction of his home.

It didn't matter. As long as he had escaped and was still in one piece. He took another look around for a familiar landmark (most of the city looked exactly the same).

Movement. Right.

He whipped around to face it, and if need be, brace himself. He stood, ready to bolt again, looking at a playful shred of white cloth stirred by an undetectable breeze. It was part of a flag hanging vertically out over a shop. He relaxed his muscles and gathered himself up again. The little white flag became motionless once more, perfectly straight as a solid stone wall.

Geurino turned away from it, somewhat unwillingly, keeping his eyes upon the piece of cloth until his back was opposite from it. He began walking, allowing himself to figure out where he was going as he strolled down the street.

There was suddenly a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, as if he had forgotten something or that something was not quite right. He tried to put it aside from his thoughts, but it just kept picking at his brain and stomach uneasily. Then realization struck him like a lightning bolt.

There was no wind; there never had been the entire night.

Mouth drier than if he had eaten sand, he turned his head around to look.

A black shadow like a giant bat from hell was bearing down on him from high in the air. He screamed in bloody horror as he was violently tackled to the ground, the back of his head busting onto the pavement.

The man in the white cloak was on top of him, a grisly grin on his lips as he lifted a wicked, snarling blade high over his head. Just then, as the blade soared down to his chest, he saw through the shadow beneath his killer's hood. The eyes! Burning, fiery red and bloodthirsty yellow like fire, encircled by coal-black! A human face no longer! The roaring, warped jaws reached from ear to ear, teeth like that of a dragon or demon! The grueling, unnatural sight burned him, impossible to look at but impossible to turn away from. Fire bellowed up from all around him. Everything became intensely horrific as he watched and felt the creature dig the blade into his body, again and again, drawing out his insides; blood spewing everywhere on him and the creature like a ghastly downpour. No way to die, no way to lessen to pain! The brutality seemed to go on forever, screaming, burning, and watching until there was nothing left of his mid-section.

Then the creature's maw opened unto blackness and he was engulfed.

~.

~.

Geurino gasped loudly and sat up in his bed, straight as a board.

He was cold and soaking with sweat, breathing faster than he thought possible. He still felt like screaming aloud into the night and also shivered uncontrollably in fear. He sat like that for a good five minutes.

When he felt like he could walk steadily, he threw aside his sheets and slithered to a nearby table with a large bowl of scented water. Cupping both hands, he placed them beneath the water and splashed his face over the basin. He let some drip off before rising upward and opening his eyes, breathing a little more steadily now. The refreshing water calmed his senses prominently, but he was still very much on edge. He leaned over and gazed at a tired, grim, white-washed face in the reflection of the churning water, then dipped a hand in again to dampen the back of his neck.

He rose up and looked back at his disheveled bed and at Annabella, lying with her back toward him, sleeping peacefully. Wondering how in the world she could have slept through his violent fit, he gazed at her lustrous figure, instilling comfort and memory loss.

Still feeling uneasy, he walked through a door and onto a small balcony, basking in the crisp, clean, night air. He gazed over the dark city and into the star-speckled sky: no moon.

He breathed out anxiously again. _Maledetto_ nightmares. Ever since the murder of Cirillo, his best comrade in arms, he had been experiencing them, but not this intense!

He was unable to deny his fear any longer. That assassin was coming for him now! All who have been targets of his deadly blade have fallen without complaint. It was inevitable; he had been on guard duty when he witnessed the Assassin kill the person he was protecting right before his eyes. It was almost Déjà vu in his nightmare. He had escaped.

Geurino walked a few steps to the end of the balcony and leaned on the railing, gazing idly off into the dark, lost in his chaotic thoughts.

A painful pressure jammed into the back of his neck. A gloved leather hand caught the yelp of pain at the tip of his tongue. Suddenly there was no pain and no more feeling. As the hand moved away, he felt himself begin to drift backwards. His eyelids felt heavy as darkness closed around them, now staring at the moonless, diamond studded sky. As his mind drifted away, he caught the blurry movement of white and the smooth, welcoming sounds, "_Requiescat in Pace_…"

* * *

_~Geurino (actually spelled Guerino, whoops!) is actually an Italian form of the Germanic name __Warin_, which was derived from the element _war_ meaning "guard". No irony in that, huh? Sorry if the whole bible thing offended you, I didn't mean anything by it (I'm actually a Christian myself). It's just a paranoid guard's crazy dream who thinks Ezio's out to get him. Merely a character motivation technique.

_Spooky? KILLer? What did you think? Please send me your thoughts... not telepathically of course! In a review! -Please.  
Thanks again for reading._

**أمان وسلام**


End file.
